Some good news, then some more good news, then a bit of bad news, then some great news... all in that order.

"Nice shirt."
"Thank you."
"You like that team?"
"Yes, I do. That's why I bought the shirt."
"It is a nice shirt."
"Yes, thank you."
"You're welcome."
"Uh, huh."
"Hmmm, did you see the final match?"
"Yeah, I did... do you think we can start the review now?"
"Sure, if you want."
"Yeah, it would be really nice."
"Ok then..."

This is how my second performance review with the chef started yesterday. Upon reading it aloud to myself, it sounds like the chef and I are a divorcee and a widow on our first date in thirty years, and it isnt going too well.
(I'm the widow, by the way, as I am sure thirty years of marriage to me will kill Ruta.)
Good news is that the review went really well. He gave me a 4.40 average out of 5, which is the highest possible B+ you can get without it being an A. Oh well.
He even put extra comments in the extra comments section of the review form. I mean, isnt that usually reserved for things like, "This employee needs to work harder on EVERYTHING" or "Employee's breath is offensive on at least nine levels, all of which I will list here..."
He said that I was a "detail oriented person" and that I "showed great improvement since the last review."
Detail oriented, huh?
Before I left for this trip, Ruta and I sat down and said, "OK, what do we want to get out of this time apart?" One of the things I said I wanted was to create success in my field. A while back, the head chef from Hyatt Vendome was in our kitchen helping out for three weeks. Hyatt Vendome is one of the premiere hotels in Europe, so this guy is a big deal. He even trained with Chef Guy Savoy, who is a confirmed really, really big deal. He is a master chef and totally famous in France. Any way, I made sure to make time to bend this chef's ear. One thing he said to me that really stuck was, "If you want to be great, really, really great, you have to pay attention to the details, because that is where greatness is."
When I worked at the cafe for Lord Vader, one of the dark lord's comments, over and over and over, was, "You are not a detail oriented person. You need to pay attention to the details. Now drop and give me six million."
I cant honestly say she was wrong, and I know the detail thing to be true in my own life outside of work. So, I really focused on it here, and it payed off. The chef said things like, "You wash and cut all the bananas from their stems, and you peel each sticker off. You arrange the salmon plates so that the presentation is appealing. You keep the buffet very clean." So, these are not big deals, but they are things that I do, because I think that they make a difference, and I was sure that no one noticed them. I did them for me though, because I need to. I have become something of an OCD type over here.
For example, the other day, I cleaned out the little kitchen I use to prepare everything for the breakfast buffet. I went out to the show kitchen to arrange a bunch of things, and when I came back, a dishwasher was sitting on my prep counter, ringing out a rag into the sink, and getting little flecks of brown water all over the place. I thought I was having an asthma attack; I got all choked up and really (not joking here) started to have a little panic attack. I shooed him out of the room, and set to cleaning the whole kitchen again. Only when it was done did I feel that I could relax.
I know that I am a person given to fits of hyperbole now and again, but I assure you, that story is totally true.
So, that said, I do all kinds of things like that, because that is how great chefs do them, but not because anyone is ever going to notice. When the chef did, I was bouncing off the walls happy.
The second bit of good news I got was that, seeing as we have hired a new guy, Simon, I will train him on breakfast next week. But today, finally and officially, was my first day in the pastry department.
So, in the interest of being concise, I will say this:
On September 30th, 2006, I professed my undying love and eternal commitment to Ruta.
On December 14th, 2007, I would like to say that if there is a second place in my life, it goes to pastry.
HOLY F-ING COW!!!!
The chef's name is Thierry (Terry), and he is amazing. The guy had me make a mousse off the bat, then a whole slew of these French crumble cakes, a rice pudding, the mix for about 30 creme brulees, and a boat load of pineapple, apple and beet chips. Fruit chips are exactly what they sound like, by the way. You slice fruit super thin, and then you dehydrate it. The effect is two fold: the fruit becomes crispy, and the sugar becomes very pronounced. This is especially true of the beets. I hate beets, and I count them as my archrivals, second only to Mel Gibson. But you dry them out, and I could eat them all day long.
The preceding list of stuff to do took my two hours. Chef Thierry had to go, so I was released for the day.
The good news about being a pastry chef? 1. All the glory, because dessert is last and everyone loves it. 2. Way more money; I dont know why. 3. Much less stress than the Executive chef, so you live longer.
The down side? You gain like, a million pounds. So, to counter that, I bought a really great French rugby jersey to run in, and that was the shirt that the chef liked so much. I think I am all set.
The bit of bad news is that tonight is my Friend Inna's last night in Paris. She leaves tomorrow morning.
A bit about Inna. She is really young- 19 years old. She is really mature for her age though, and she is an art school graduate with a focus on painting. Our conversations are those that I will remember for a long, long time. When she is sad, she paints; if she is happy, she paints. If she is angry, she writes.... or paints. I have never seen the stuff, though, as she is really shy about it.
Also, being Russian, she can drink like nobody's beeswax. I dont try to keep up. I just let her take gulp after gulp of vodka, hold it under her tongue (like they do in Russia), and swallow it down. After she has had three or four vodkas, neat, she will pick me up off the floor and walk me home. I will usually have had two beers; I just cant hold my liquor the way I used to, as I have lost a bit of weight.
Tonight is her going away party, and I am planning on it being a long night.
The thing is, it is really sad for me. I mean, I will really miss her and the great conversations we had, but I mean, I am worried for Inna.
About two months ago, Inna got really sick. She didnt come out of her room for a week and so, obviously, she wasnt at work. She finally went and saw a doctor, and he put her on some meds, which I think she takes religiously. She told everyone that she had a bad flu, but was feeling better. Thats how it was left, but I found out from her manager that- really- her father had died suddenly. Understandably, she was really depressed. She told her supervisor that she didnt want to talk about it, though, because she didnt want everyone tip toeing around her. She said she wanted to make this time in France as a time that she would remember fondly.
So, I never said anything about it.
I have walked by her in the hall, though, when she was on the phone with her mother, and I have seen how she tries to hold it together for her. I know she is stressed, and I know that this Christmas will be a rough one. What is that like? An empty chair at the dinner table or an empty place by the tree on Christmas morning, suddenly?I know that she is going to go home and deal with that tomorrow, and I hope that she is ok. I am really tempted to say, "Look, if you ever want to just vent, you can always call or email me" but then she would know that I know, and that would make the last few months seem really fake.
So, I will take her out tonight, and we will celebrate, and I will pretend that all is right with the world, when I know its not. I am not the kind of person who holds things in; I like having people there I can talk to, but I guess just pretending that everything is great is the best friend I can be to her right now. It sucks though.
It really sucks.
Anyway, to end on a happy note, and to change the subject dramatically, I recently found out that this hotel makes a gross profit of 200,000,000€ a year. That is nearly $400,000,000, 40% of which comes from food and beverage, so that's about $160,000,000 made from the restaurants here and the bar. One of our biggest customers is Air France, as we have a special First Class room with them at Charles de Gaulle Airport that business people, executives, and the various wealthy can hang out in while waiting for their flights. Also, their execs stay here at the hotel.
"Big deal" stuff.
Next week, the chef is hosting some of their executive team in his bistro, a little room in the kitchen that is decorated really well, and gets all of our best products (flavored French salts, Dom Perignon, fine crystal wine glasses, etc).
As I was leaving today, I threw the chef a "Bon weekend!" as I was walking out the door.
That is really pretty informal for this guy, so when he called after me, I thought I was going to get a little lecture on French etiquette. (It would have been more proper to firmly shake his hand, look him in the eye, and say, "Au revoir, chef." Actually, it would have been even better had I just quietly left and said nothing.)
I was surprised that he had no interest in discussing etiquette with me at all.
What he did say, in fact, was:
"Next week I have the executive team from Air France in my bistro. I am personally cooking for all of them. I would like for you to assist."
After I stopped pissing myself, I nodded like an idiot, shook his hand, thanked him about a thousand times, and ran out of the kitchen, giggling like a fourth grade girl, high on coke.
So, I have two weeks left in this country as of this writing, and it seems four months of ass kicking have been worth it.
I dont mean for this blog to come off sounding like, "I'm so great" but I have to say, that I left the States less than confident. If you recall, I didnt even have any pants at the time.
It has been a heck of a ride, and it aint even over yet...